


Human, Partially Deceased

by Dain



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:05:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1739039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dain/pseuds/Dain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets of early recovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human, Partially Deceased

He opens his eyes.

It’s bright around him, above him, under him: bright white, getting into his eyes and blotting out the details. He’s strapped to something, staring at the ground. He can barely move, but he tries, growling in frustration at his helplessness.

Then, suddenly: movement nearby. Voices. Prey. He becomes aware of how long it’s been since he last fed and he struggles more vigorously, but it does little good.

The voices draw nearer, and there’s a slight pressure at the back of his neck. His muscles stiffen. The white turns to black.

***

He opens his eyes.

He still can’t move, but he’s upright now, and has been for a few days. He blinks and squints until the white world around him focuses and he can see what’s happening. Which, as it turns out, isn’t much. The room is empty.

Halfheartedly, he pulls at his bonds a bit, but he’s losing his spirit. He hasn’t fed but he doesn’t think he needs to, which is all right. Just so long as he isn’t hungry.

The door opens, eventually, and a familiar face enters. This prey visits him quite often, though he’s not sure why; usually prey that see him either run or attack, but this one just touches him and attaches things to him and sometimes even talks to him. It’s unusual behavior, and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

This time, the prey shines a light in his eyes, which is annoying, and after making a record of something, approaches him from behind. He knows what’s coming, and he doesn’t fight when the prey leans his head forward and does whatever it is it always does to the back of his neck.

Something’s different.

The empty white room is gone. He’s somewhere else – somewhere with color and noise and he’s hunting, and the girl – the girl – the girl –

He’s gasping when the white room comes back. The prey is directly in front of him, staring him in the eye. It says something, something about _hear_ and _do_ and _me_ but he’s not sure of the details, so he just stares back and growls a little.

The prey leaves soon after that.

***

He opens his eyes.

The man is back, and he can’t tell if he woke up late or if the man just arrived early this time. He moves a little, and the man looks up.

The man says something that starts with _good_ , and _you_ is in there somewhere as well but it still doesn’t quite make sense to him. The man does a few things with a tube and a knife before picking up the larger object and moving behind him. He leans his head forward obediently and waits for the pressure.

The girl is back, and her eyes widen when she sees him. He doesn’t like that look on her face, but it doesn’t stop him from reaching out, grabbing her…

The man is staring at him again.

“Who are you?” the man asks.

He knows each word, and he knows that they can go together, but he isn’t sure why they’re important or how he should respond, so he simply stares back. The man repeats his question, but when nothing changes, he’s left alone again in the white room.

***

He opens his eyes.

The girl’s face had made him even more uncomfortable this time, and he’d almost wanted to stop, turn away, anything to not look at that face. But he’d continued, as he does every time he sees the girl, and then the old room had come back, just like every other time.

“Who are you?” the man asks. “Can you understand me?”

He does understand, but he doesn’t know how to tell the man that. He stares, helpless, as the door shuts behind him.

***

He opens his eyes.

“What’s happening?” is all he can think to say. His voice sounds strange and raspy, but it gets the man’s attention.

“Did you say something?”

“What’s happening?”

The man scribbled something fiercely onto his clipboard before turning back to him. “You’re in the Norfolk Treatment Facility for the Partially Deceased. Do you understand what that means?”

Sort of, he thinks. “Treatment?”

“You’ve been…very ill.” The man pauses, considers him. “Do you remember anything? Anything about what happened before you came here?”

He furrows his brow. “The girl – is she from before?”

“What girl?”

“I see a girl. When I’m not here.” He frowns. “Is she a – memory?” Memory, that’s a good word.

“You see her after I use this?” the man asks, picking up the large object he uses on his neck.

He nods.

“She probably is, then. Many patients have flashbacks after medication. Is there anything else?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you know your name?”

He shakes his head again, but the man seems satisfied. “You’ve shown a great deal of progress in the last few days – it’s a good sign that you’ve begun talking. They’ll let you be mobile very soon, I should think.”

He supposes that’s probably a good thing.

***

Kieren Walker opens his eyes.

His new room is more comfortable, if still very white. He likes being able to move around, at least, and sleeping horizontally is easier than it was when he was vertical. There are actually two beds in his room, and the doctors have said that he should be getting a roommate soon. He isn’t sure how to feel about that, so he tends to forget about it.

There isn’t much to do. The doctors have a lot of tests they like to run, and there’s always the daily medication, but other than that things are dull. He’s been promised access to the common areas and induction into a group therapy schedule, but nothing’s happened yet. All in due time, the doctors say, but he’s more than a little tired of staring at blank white walls all day. Even just one painting might –

“I remembered something else today,” he tells Doctor Rao when she shows up with his medication.

“Really? What’s that?”

“I was an artist.” It still feels strange to talk about his life _before_ , but the more he remembers the less alien any of it seems. Someday he hopes to have a neat chronology of his life so that everything can be connected and logical and right, but he’s not sure if that’s expected to happen. He’s too afraid to ask.

Doctor Rao smiles at him. “I’m sure you’re still an artist, Kieren. You might need to practice a bit when you get home, but it’ll come back. You wait and see.”

He smiles back, but his heart’s not in it. Home. He doesn’t remember much about it. He knows his family’s faces, but very few solid memories regarding them have surfaced. They’ve been told that he’s here, he knows, but he also knows that it will be a long time before he’s ready to go back to them. Sometimes he thinks he’ll never be ready, but he keeps that thought to himself.

Eventually Doctor Rao leaves and he’s alone again, staring at the walls, wishing for just a dash of color.

***

He opens his eyes, and she’s there, standing over his bed, bloody and smiling.

He closes his eyes again.


End file.
